


The Art of Losing

by mooglecharm (morphaileffect)



Category: Final Fantasy XV
Genre: Angst, Blind Character, Dark, Deaf Character, Depression, Disability, Established Relationship, M/M, Old Age, Older Gladiolus Amicitia, Older Ignis Scientia, Suicide Attempt, seriously please mind that ONE TAG
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-06
Updated: 2021-02-06
Packaged: 2021-03-18 11:15:33
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,849
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29242689
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/morphaileffect/pseuds/mooglecharm
Summary: He lost his vision some forty years ago. Approaching old age, Ignis finds himself losing his hearing as well.
Relationships: Gladiolus Amicitia/Ignis Scientia
Comments: 3
Kudos: 34





	The Art of Losing

**Author's Note:**

> Read [this beautiful poem](https://www.poetryfoundation.org/poems/47536/one-art), from which the title was derived.
> 
> My knowledge of Deafness comes from having a beloved Deaf relative, and some internet research. I most certainly do not aim to offend. I apologize most sincerely if this is what happens.
> 
> Happy birthday, Ignis! 07/feb/2021

What Gladio couldn’t seem to accept was that it didn’t matter if they’d gone to the doctor earlier.

The outcome would have been the same.

“It’s the nature of degenerative diseases,” the specialist said. “There are ways to make things easier...implants, surgeries, medicines, changes in lifestyle. But the best we can hope to do is slow it down. There’s no way to stop or reverse it.”

The specialist spoke softly, and her voice carried well in the near-total silence of her clinic.

But Ignis barely heard her say these things.

It didn’t really matter, because Gladio was mainly the one the specialist was speaking with - Gladio, who had insisted on being there, as he did every single time.

He was recognized as Ignis’ caregiver. No matter if Ignis never needed caregivers before, having served the Lucian government for decades without requiring help with day-to-day matters. No matter if Ignis didn’t have a _caregiver_ , he had a _husband_ -

To all his doctors, Gladio had only one classification.

Gladio went through all the motions in one day. First, denial: he suggested, as calmly as he could, that the tests were wrong and should be run again. He even talked about getting a second opinion, forgetting for a moment that she was already the third specialist they had gone to, and she said pretty much the same thing as the first two did.

Then, anger. He began to yell at the specialist, and was stopped only by Ignis lightly laying a hand on his arm.

Immediately after that, he slid into bargaining mode: asking if there was anyone else they could see, any other option they could pursue.

The specialist said not even magic could arrest degenerative diseases brought on by age - and there was no magic anywhere in the world, anymore.

Ignis should have been able to tell from the sound of her voice if she was sad, upset, or sympathetic...in the past, it used to be easy. But this time, her voice came to his aged ears as a dull thudding, devoid of emotion or sentiment.

But Ignis had to tell himself it no longer mattered how she - or anyone - felt.

There was no way to stop Ignis from losing his hearing.

That was really all she was saying.

Depression came next. And, as much as he tried to hide it, Gladio was an expert at this. He sulked all the way to the car, in the car, and as they made their way back to their house. Then he locked himself in the guest room, refused to talk.

He only came out after sundown, to help Ignis prepare dinner. And when he finally spoke again, it was to say “The doctor gave us a list of people who could help, with their contact information. Let me know when you’re ready and I’ll set up appointments for you.”

***

Ignis didn’t quite know what stage of grief he was in...

But maybe Ignis wasn’t in any stage of grief at all. It wasn’t something he could afford to think about.

There was so much work to do.

He had to figure out the best way to report the third specialist’s findings to the President, for one. His condition had been affecting his work for quite a while now, and he needed to be up front about why, and what was going to happen next.

Despite his visual impairment, the President considered Ignis essential to diplomatic engagements; Ignis could sense when someone was lying. He could detect it in the person’s breathing, their pauses - in some cases, even their heartbeat.

From the way a person behaved, and the way the “air” around them changed, Ignis could sense when someone cared passionately enough about something. When that “something” could be used _against_ that person. More than all that, he had the brains to tailor his words and actions to deliver the best possible outcome in any negotiation.

Losing one sense ended up being a boon to him.

But losing two...

The President might ask him to retire. He was of that age, anyway, or close to it.

Ignis Scientia had just turned 60 years old. His husband, Gladiolus Amicitia, 61.

The doctors projected that Ignis would lose all of his hearing by the time he was 70.

He was in perfect health, otherwise.

Ignis did not want to retire.

But with this new development, he didn’t know how else he was supposed to live his life.

The second hearing specialist they consulted had actually said it was a lucky thing that Gladio had such a naturally deep voice; with Ignis’ condition, it was easier for him to hear sounds in lower registers, than higher ones. This meant that while he retained some hearing, Ignis should be able to perceive and understand his husband’s voice, better than others’.

Gladio, along with others who interacted with Ignis regularly, would need to learn tactile signing. But that was tedious, and time-consuming. An easier (but slower) way to communicate would be for people to trace letters with the tip of their forefingers, onto Ignis’ skin.

With the loss of his hearing, the first specialist had said, it was possible that Ignis would also lose confidence in his speaking voice. To communicate back to others, Ignis could use the Braille typewriter he had custom-made for himself decades ago. It had been repaired dozens of times, had been one of his most reliable, most constant companions.

But the typewriter was dispensable. The one reliable, constant companion Ignis had ever had in his life was actually Gladio.

The head of the Presidential Guard. Who had his own responsibilities.

Responsibilities he was willing to drop as soon as Ignis needed him.

He had made that clear.

Ignis was going to keep meeting with his doctors and keeping close tabs on his condition. And Gladio was going to be there with him, every step of the way. If there was any improvement, he would be there to celebrate it. If there was any procedure that needed to be done, he would be there for that, too.

At 61, Gladio described himself as “semi-retired” - but, in fact, his responsibilities were not few. He was in top physical shape, and could easily whip arrogant upstarts thirty or forty years younger. And so he was called on to train younger recruits.

Teaching was something Gladio latched onto late in life, was a calling he did not know he had. Only when, as a King’s Shield, he lost his King.

But at least, he still had his sight and his hearing.

Ignis, on the other hand, had been training himself to be a General, a King’s Advisor, all his life.

And _then_ he lost his vision, then his King.

Between the two of them, one was clearly more adept at losing.

“It may be a good time to look into respite houses now.”

Gladio put down the plate he was wiping dry. “Ignis,” he breathed.

“Specialized ones,” Ignis continued, without caring. “Only the ones that could take in the elderly with communication issues. But not the fancy ones, mind. I may live another twenty years, give or take, there’s no reason to deplete our savings.”

“You’re _not_ leaving home,” Gladio said firmly. “We’ve talked about this.”

“Of course,” Ignis joked, “if I don’t live that long, that just saves everyone the trouble - “

There was the muffled sound of a fist hitting marble.

Gladio had slammed his hand down onto the sink.

(He would never hurt Ignis. Of course not...

But though they had been together for so long, they could still hurt each other, sometimes.)

“When you talk like that,” Gladio said in a low, angry sigh, “I just want to - “

“What?” Ignis challenged, smiling. “Leave me?”

Gladio fell silent and still. Ignis could just imagine the stricken look on his face.

And to be honest, he felt guilty. Gladio was always more emotionally vulnerable than he was.

“You could, you know,” Ignis mercilessly continued. “Someday, I’ll become completely dependent on you. When I lost my sight, I was young and strong enough to train myself not to need anyone. But when my hearing goes, too, I may no longer be able to do anything by myself.”

“You’re you.” Gladio sounded miserable. “You can rise above anything.”

“I’m tired of struggling, Gladio.”

“I know,” Gladio said, already enfolding his husband in a tight embrace. “I know.”

Ignis returned that embrace automatically. It was warm. Familiar. And as comforting as Gladio’s own distress could allow.

But just before falling asleep that night, Ignis realized: he had _wanted_ Gladio to leave him.

It would have made things so much easier.

***

Ignis had a plan.

Part of that plan was to take Gladio out on a camping trip.

Their last. But Gladio didn’t have to know that.

They hadn’t gone camping in over a decade. Ignis wasn’t surprised to find Gladio unenthusiastic about the idea. To fully enjoy the great outdoors, people needed energy, and so it made sense that more younger than older people enjoyed it. And the last few months, dealing with Ignis’ new disability, had drained them of a fair bit of energy.

But that was exactly Ignis’ rationale for the trip: they both needed a break. Away from Insomnia. Away from the difficult changes they’d had to make to their lifestyle and routines. And he couldn’t think of a better escape than revisiting an old favorite pastime.

He’d asked Gladio where he wanted to go. Gladio bitterly joked that it felt like every camping spot he could think of had a bad memory of being chased down by daemons attached to it.

In the end, he decided on the haven in Altor Slough.

It was a wide open space, overlooking a large lake frequented by harmless creatures. Scenic, Ignis had to agree. Even if he wouldn’t, strictly speaking, be able to appreciate the scenery.

But this camping trip was for Gladio. Not him.

It was to give Gladio one last, good memory.

Among the personal items that Ignis had brought to camp was a vial of poison - something that fell into his possession ages ago. But not too long ago that it would lose its potency.

It was the quickest, deadliest poison that anyone in Eos knew of.

He had a plan. He would enjoy the day with the person he loved the most, who loved him the most, and who enjoyed camping more than anyone he knew.

And it would be his last day on Eos. He would end it on a high note. The love of his life would be happy, refreshed, hopeful, and contentedly asleep as Ignis ingested the poison he had brought.

He knew it was unfair. That he was possibly ruining Gladio’s love of camping forever. That if Gladio woke, and he didn’t, and there was only an empty vial on the ground to find, Gladio might well spend his remaining years blaming himself for being selfish and enjoying the day. For not even having a _clue_.

But there was a numbness over Ignis’ heart - a numbness that no amount of hugs or kisses or reassuring words from the person he loved the most could relieve. He thought of it as numbness brought on more by reason than by weariness.

There was no reason to sit quietly as his aging body made him helpless.

To saddle a perfectly compassionate human being like Gladio with the task of caring for him until one of their lives ended.

It was nothing but logical to end his first. Even if it meant leaving Gladio alone. That only meant Gladio would have time to get over it, to hate him, too, maybe...and hopefully, finally, to understand.

He was so adept at losing, he knew this one true thing:

He only had to lose this one last time.

***

Gladio held him more tightly against his chest.

“What is it?” Ignis asked softly.

“Shooting stars.” He could hear Gladio’s breath being taken away. “They’re beautiful.”

Ignis was about to comment, but Gladio had planted a kiss on his hair.

“So beautiful,” Gladio breathed, without turning away from him.

They had made love like they hadn’t done in years. Ignis had to admit, the sex was unexpected. And unexpectedly good.

They shared a bedroll outside the tent, but the persistent night chill meant they would need to move back into the tent soon, where a servicable heater was set up.

But Ignis didn’t feel like it right now. Gladio’s body heat fought off any thoughts of moving a single inch. Gladio’s lips and hands on his skin felt as if they were locking him in place.

As he lay in his husband’s embrace, Ignis remembered his husband’s voice steadily gaining a tone of excitement as the day progressed.

It was as if he was getting younger, shedding the weight of the years, as the day drew on.

It happened as he finished pitching the tent, for starters. As Ignis cooked his favorite meals as a surprise to him. As he spotted a wild chocobo herd pass by. As he came back from a hiking trip with a bunch of wildflowers in hand to give to his husband. And as he and Ignis went fishing to pass the remaining daylight hours.

Fishing - an activity Ignis could enjoy even with both his hearing and vision gone. One of many.

He had to admit, he hadn’t thought about this...hadn’t thought about making _fun_ a part of his new life.

Getting back into fishing again, after such a long time, felt like Noct was there with them. Like Noct was telling Ignis he understood how he felt completely, but he should _snap out of it_ , because -

There was so much fish to catch. So many new things left in old places, for him to discover.

And so many more years to spend making Gladio happy.

Gladio had wanted to take pictures, too. He was generous with details of how Altor Slough had changed since the last time they were there, over a decade ago, on their last camping trip (where Ignis had liberally complained of joint pains and the damp) but he also wanted to take plenty of photos to commemorate their visit. And he wanted to take them with both himself and Ignis in the shot.

This reminded Ignis of Prompto - dear Prompto, who understood more than anyone the value of sentiment.

And Gladio’s deep voice would always be there to bring him back to Earth. To be heard by him, as it told him he was beautiful. That everything was going to be okay.

His warmth would be the final regret. The one thing Ignis would feel sad about losing.

He imagined himself ingesting the poison, then crawling back into Gladio’s arms...and feeling Gladio’s warmth fading out of his reach.

And Ignis realized:

That was part of the plan.

But it was the _one part_ he never wanted to have to go through.

He had, in fact, been hoping that the poison would be that fast. That he would not spend even a fraction of a second feeling himself drifting away.

Gladio was always his anchor. The most solid, most reliable thing in his life.

And even if he lost his hearing, his hope, everything he felt he could rely on - Gladio would be there.

Gladio, who was always strong, and smiling, and warm.

What possible reason did he have for leaving this behind?

What was the rationale again...?

Ignis snuggled up closer.

“They are,” he murmured. “The most beautiful thing.”

***

In the morning, he woke to the smell of breakfast cooking.

Then to vague sounds of his husband coming into the tent. The smell of food became stronger as he approached.

There was even coffee. Blessed coffee.

A kiss was planted on his lips. “Good morning, gorgeous,” Gladio lovingly greeted. “Eat.”

Ignis took a moment to reorient himself.

...Was he even supposed to wake up this morning?

As he pondered this essential glitch in his plans, he finished the breakfast and coffee offered to him.

And felt as if they were the most delicious things he had tasted in a while.

He must have been so tired last night. It had been a full day. And the evening was no less eventful.

It was everything he had planned for their last camping trip.

Except for one thing.

In the end, Altor Slough had become significant to Ignis. After all - it was the one haven where there was a hole in the ground, into which the quickest, deadliest poison he knew of had been poured, in the dead of night. And into which the shards of the shattered vial that had contained the poison had been buried.

Gladio would never know about this. To him, Altor Slough would just be his favorite haven. The one where he spent one of the best nights of his life, with the person he could not imagine himself living without.

He would not know that Ignis had lost one important thing in that haven:

The inclination to surrender.


End file.
